Monday, September 12, 2011

My best friend despises these shorts. She has been trying to make me throw them away since the first rip led to my right cheek being introduced to the world. They used to be my dad's (as jeans alas, my father is not Tobias Funke). I am sad you can now actually see daylight through the seat area, but I’m too proud/loyal/cheap to go to Urban Outfitters or Rokit or wherever and buy a soulless, better-fitting replacement. I have written a paean to them;

You have the life experience of 10,000 pairs of jeggingsYou have seen so many grass stains and wine spillsSpilled makeshift ashtrays in tents and damp sand abandonmentsAnd I am too scared to wash youIn case you disintegrate.

NEVER SURRENDER.

In other news, I have a rotten cold and have to be on a train for 7 and a half hours tomorrow, where I will undoubtedly be glared at by everyone around me the entire way for giving them tsars.

Friday, September 9, 2011

MAN I love Emmy the Great. Just booked a ticket to see her at the Lemon Tree in Aberdeen (where I'll be living again this time next week! Hello rickets my old friend, I've missed ya). I wish she and Laura Marling gave lessons in how to be a proper, emotionally articulate human. I'd pay big.

I've been listening to her allllll day while I begin the painful, arduous task of choosing which clothes I physically have space to take back up with me. Trying not to get confused by the still-warmish London weather and bring all my favourite jelly shoes and beach-appropriate shorts into the Arctic wilds.

I suck so hard at blogging. When I used to religiously keep a diary (14-17, oh yes. 3 badboy years of sulking, smoking and listening to the smiths) I would only ever write it on days I was depressed or hungover or suffering from one of the ten thousand colds I get per year, never when I was happy or excited or had been busy. And now summer is nearly over, and I have not written anything. Whevz.